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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26933077">Lux in tenebris</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobo_cadaver/pseuds/hobo_cadaver'>hobo_cadaver</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Afterlife, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Feels, Fix-It of Sorts, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Multi, Reunions, Sad with a Happy Ending, Spoilers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 03:01:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,193</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26933077</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobo_cadaver/pseuds/hobo_cadaver</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>John senses the end is coming. And he is not mistaken.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Abigail Roberts Marston &amp; John Marston, John Marston/Arthur Morgan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>41</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Lux in tenebris</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I was feeling miserable for past few days, had to put my thoughts and emotions into something. Wrote it deep in the night, cried.<br/>Anyways, enjoy lol</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Something heavy hung in the air that day. Like an upcoming sandstorm or tempest, overwhelming sensation about to hit his body. If it was already the old age, he wouldn’t be surprised, but not ready yet. Still. Pesky thoughts of the approaching doom were constantly there, just miles away above his head, few steps behind, lurking. Superficially dormant. Awaiting the moment he lets his guard down, slips, snaps.. Whatever it might be. <em>But what is it about today?</em> John thought to himself, feeling how all sorts of anxiety crept up his spine. How may it be different? He couldn’t fully wrap his mind around that. If he ever was truly honest with himself, now was the moment. There won’t be any in the future, nor there were in the days devolved. He has to be once in this miserable life. Once. Last few years were a handful, to brim – menace. Hard to cope with. Hard to swallow. Remnant he was in the cold, cruel present that flown by as he stood in place, incapable of letting go the stings that held him. Everything just fell into his path as if every stone he kicked away earlier, came back as a boulder he now had to move to be able to go on. But it also felt like he was slowly becoming one. All the weight pulling him down. The past, one he thought he had ran from far enough. But it caught up. How? He didn’t know and he wouldn’t. Never was a smart man anyways, as Abigail always accentuated, and maybe she had been right all along. At last, it came to it, just as she said so. </p><p>The minute Uncle called him, John knew. It has been comin’. He saw it coming. And so it came. “Who is it, pa?” Jack asked, terrified, gazing forward. <em>The end of me</em> John thought, but later spoke adamant, lying as if he meant it. Just like years back. Many years..“Jus’ some ol’ friends. Me and Uncle’ll take care of it.” And he pushes his son to run, instructing him how to act. No matter what will happen, the kid has to obey his words. Whatever happens, whatever comes. When he leaves, Marston has only few things to say to the latter he ended up with. How he used to hate the said feller. This useless, grumpy parasite and for an unknown reason they stuck together till now. John turns to him, face pulled to a grimace. “Well, old man, looks like things is about to get settled once and for all..” So it comes. The great flood. Men barging into their direction; hooves hitting the ground, guns blazing. John prepared, closing an eye, aiming. The recoil of riffle making his back sore, pain raising from waist up, spreading between shoulder blades. Shot, multiple. Pushing out the brass. Reloading. Hears only the revolvers, bullets flying past him. Some graze over his limbs, other miss. He doesn’t see when and how Uncle gets hit. Fatally. Would mourn, but there’s really no time. All the gathered and spared minutes he collected by sheer luck are now taken away. They are no more. After reuniting with Abigail and Jack in their house, seizing sight of how scared out of their minds they are, he remembers how the seconds are split. Someone counting probably the last of his steps. Hastily passing the cooling corpses, saying goodbyes. Abigail mutters helplessly and their son remains confused, John’s rushing them into the barn to their only horse. Last hope. As the woe man spill into the prairie, sounds dissolving, almost dusted, slowed down, John has an epiphany. It is all again the same. This particular predicament that haunted him since the said day happened, occurs once more. Some part of him breaks. History repeating itself. “Hey, come on now, listen-“ he guides his loved ones to the mount’s back, gesturing to the saddle. A rasp of cough. <em>You go-‘ </em>follows, echoing thru his mind. He can feel how the time didn’t wipe away the emotions sunken in this memory, only protected like in an amber. ‘<em>Keep pushin’-‘</em> it is him who proclaims. <em>‘No.’</em> a stern voice cuts in, barely a command. They have to move. Move on. But it is only him that does lastly- Not this time. </p><p>“Get on this horse, get outta here, go find a place to hide.” But they’re ain’t having none of that. Their eyes say everything, threatening to spill. “You comin’ with us, pa!” Jack insists, but John hasn’t backed up on the plan yet, deciding to proceed further.  ‘<em>I think I pushed all I can.’ </em>Marston hears in the back of his head, but these are not his own words and he has to look up as if it might help recognize the source. The voice weak, strained, not what it used to be. Although he was unable to see correctly in dimmed shine of the moon, the shadow he stays in, suggests only one person. The man who granted him this life. But he is now in hurry. They all are. Ghost of the past grasps unprecedentedly and John struggles to focus as his mounted wife and boy stare into him, burning holes, scolding. Worrying.. They know too. They don’t want to acknowledge, but they know. Who would gladly accept the unfortunate fate? And they still have that foolish hope. Like it isn’t already meant to be. “I’ll catch up.” he assures them falsely. “Keep ridin’-” ‘<em>When the time comes you gotta run-‘ <strong>“</strong></em><strong>and don’t look back.”</strong> he finally spits as the weight of the sentence grounds him, makes him unmovable. He won’t go. What he would gladly do doesn’t matter now. There’s no other choice but to stay. To face. The fate written, ink dried, all sealed. Abigail says she loves him and Marston reciprocates. Jack throws one more glance, spurs the horse as his father hits it on the haunch. And they don’t look back..</p><p>
  <em>We ain’t both gonna make it. I’ll hold them off- </em>
</p><p>
  <em>It would mean a lot to me.. please.. </em>
</p><p>There’ s nothing left. No words, it is practically over. John sighs, wind barely brushing, everything flowing through his mind, crazily, images flashing, sudden angst seeping into veins. He has to move. Taking breaths and steps, he stops amidst, peering from behind the slither among the barn door. Outnumbered and afraid it what he now is.<em> Looks like my path has come to an end</em> he ponders, sizing up all the armed man behind in the line of sight. There’s no way in hell he is going to survive. One last breath. ‘Not looking back’ is what he went like <em>then</em>, he remembers, and he knows he is ought to go like that <em>now</em>. The departure. So he pushes open the sheltering wood, drawing his pistol. The round goes, but only his round. The time has come. Bullets hit hard; he sways. All man eye him up. The former bandit who did the dirty work is nothing to them, but dirt. The clean live while the filth perishes…Once an outlaw, always an outlaw. He loses the ability to inhale properly and the clouds of air taken in get trapped somewhere, causing the blood to stir everywhere. Cough ensues, copper on his tongue, he lands on his back. Red over his clothes, in the sand. His blood. But the hit doesn’t hurt anymore. Only the view does. Abandoned, dying alone. Thing he feared, always running, thinking that his mighty fortune may help, but in the end, it didn’t. Immense darkness blinds him eventually and he feels only the endless fall; his eyes close. Body eases, shuts down. Void is what the end is, reassuringly.</p>
<hr/><p>When his upper eyelids lift, fluttering under the tender breeze, John realizes he now lies basking in the sun rays, high grass surrounding him from every angle, giving a slight shade. It stretches as far as he could see, bent only by the wide hill with blunt apex, easy to climb without breaking a sweat. There’s also a path leading in opposite way, probably to a river, which he is almost able to hear splashing over the rocks. The long stalks bow below the gentle hand of wind and Marston might just lie in this field forever, dozing off, but he decides to explore. How come he ended up in this place, he wonders aimlessly, not really thinking <em>what</em>, but rater <em>why</em> he finds himself here. Didn’t he just die? Wasn’t he shot at? What even is this site? Might it be that somehow, for some reason, he survived? Maybe, but something that’s real off suggest the contrary. <em>No wounds</em>. He lets his feet drag him along in no meaningful direction, wondering over the grassy hill full of golden and red poppies. Flowers so sensitive beneath his touch, fragile, but in a way – strong. <em>They must be</em> he reckons. <em>They must be</em> <em>to survive</em>. There’s a light chatter coming from the distance, but far, covered by the sounds of nature, hence unintelligible. The hill spreads under his footing like a carpet of greens, yellows and other hues that cannot be named. Everything gives off the sense of serenity and overall calmness, no dread, no worries, only the peaceful order of the fauna bordering him, yet seemingly endless. He never would be prepared for what unveils next.</p><p>In close proximity sat a man, leaning back on a great mare, focused on a book in his hand, occasionally turning a page. Beside them, a dog lounged by the man’s legs, calm, ogling above paws crossed under its head. It plainly hits. This particular specimen of a person is not a stranger and the thought, the temerity he had in knowing who he is, shatters everything. Sweeping through Marston like a tornado, harsh, this devastating force so brutal that it may just now crash him and this world too. He walks forward, but being so close pushes him down. Collapsing onto his knees alerts of his presence the other who gazes to the origin of the loud thump. “Arthur..” the word caught in his throat as he swallows the lump growing in there, eyes wet, dripping. The other rises to his feet, struck, frozen, lips parted, book slips from his grasp. “John? John, is it really you?” Morgan sounds strangled, confused like he doesn’t really believe what he sees or <em>who</em>. The man in question only nods a couple of times, hiding face in hands, incapable of stopping flow of his tears anymore. How could this be? That was all too good to be true, must be a dream. John sobs. The bellows leave him as blares, struggling breaths, he’s shaking in an.. embrace? Arthur hugs him tightly, bringing Marston to his chest, arms closing him in. Younger felt how his cheek submerges in tears, though not only his own. Older man cried too and pulled back first, locking his gaze on the latter’s physiognomy. As he busted into a drenched, humorless laugh, sounding so sad that it was getting seriously hard for the dark haired man to not break again. Panting, they collapsed to the ground onto their bottoms. Seated in the other’s lap, encased by one of his strong arms, Marston felt a wisp being brushed away past his ear. There was something very disheartening about the way blond studied him with. “You shouldn’t be here, John, you know?” chapped mouth, curved into a horseshoe shape confessed. And <em>he</em> knew, but it surpassed will and went beyond abilities. It was what it was, the way it had to.“You know how it is, ain’t you?” he replied, remembering how Morgan died young too. Too young. God, now as he examined the older man.. He looked healthy, well-fed, happiest he’s ever seen him. Like alive. Like before everything went to shit. Before him going down with an illness- Never got to grow old, never will, hence his hair stayed in that lovely light chestnut color, soft to touch. Not so many wrinkles visible, barely blemished by the time gone astray. Blue greenish irises observing patiently all of his moves. Built like a bear, possessing its strength, but mighty as a stag, yet stubborn like an unruly horse. <em>A gentle giant</em>. John had to smile, despite mind, still not fully comprehending, dictated him otherwise. “I missed you.” slipped simultaneously from their mouth while the behold lingered. Eyes locked, lips finally coming together. “And missed this too.” breathed Marston as they parted, remembering what seemed like whole centuries that went by from the time they last kissed properly. Older man refrained from it months before his passing. “What was you doin’ here before anyways?” he asked curiously, stroking the familiar countenance. “Not much really. Was quite lonely, even with the company of Hosea, Bessie, Lenny and ma. Seems nothin’s same without you-” John faced him straight, looking dead in the eye. “But you’re here.” said Arthur giving that endearing smile, taking younger’s hand in his own, intertwining their fingers. Tears appeared once more, staying unshed. “Last piece of what I left behind, finally came and completed me again.”</p>
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